


Boy with the Sticky Fingers

by Adry1412



Category: The Walking Dead (TV)
Genre: 10k+ words! woo!, Age Difference, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Angst with a Happy Ending, Comfort/Angst, Comic Book Shop, Comic book shop owner!Negan, Kleptomania, Kleptomaniac!Daryl, M/M, NOT underage though, No Sex, Older Negan, Stealing, Younger Daryl Dixon, also a cockroach falls in love with daryl briefly, brief description of a gorey comic cover, but some kissing, coworker!Rick, daryl's a little shit, fuck if i know why, good brother!Merle, horror comics, slightly bad decisions made but for good reasons, sounds like all my fics dont it
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-06-30
Updated: 2018-06-30
Packaged: 2019-05-30 19:27:55
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 10,632
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15103382
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Adry1412/pseuds/Adry1412
Summary: Daryl is a confused kid who's addiction to swiping things he doesn't need drops him into some hot water. Negan has an idea to give him just the kick in the ass he needs get his shit together.





	Boy with the Sticky Fingers

**Author's Note:**

> First and foremost, I'm not writing this as some kind of judgement towards people who shoplift. I understand there are always circumstances that call for such measures and I'm not one to judge people for how they live their lives. I tried to make it clear in the story that Daryl no longer has a need to steal but is actually addicted to it. And also, Merle never forced Daryl to steal, he simply learned it from watching. So please, don't give me any hate. I'm just trying to tell a silly little love story between kindred souls.  
> \---  
> On another note, I've actually been working on this for about a year now. I've recently been going back and writing for/editing some of my older fics and I hope you guys enjoy them. To you, their brand new fics but to me, they're old friends who I hold very tenderly. So please be kind and comment on them and let me know what you think. Okay, I'll let you read now. Thank you, love you!

“Get back here, you little shit!!”

Living in the city had its pros and cons. Or at least that’s what Daryl thinks as he sprints from the bodega, pockets heavy and grin a mile wide as his fast feet thump on the concrete sidewalk.

The main pro being that in a city this large, with multiple burroughs and fast trains, there’s a slim chance he’ll see the balding, fuming clerk ever again. (And honestly, good riddance!) The main con being that his heavy pockets and sticky fingers were a means to survival.

Well, they were. Back when he was younger and his brother struggled to keep the leaky apartment roof over their head and a lukewarm meal on the table without “borrowing” some necessities from the stores. Daryl learned quick to shut up and keep his head down when Merle stuffed cans of food and bread into his pockets and walked out like nothing was amiss. Things were harder then, and Daryl had picked up the trick of the trade fast and began to take things as well. Little things, like sodas and twizzlers, were shoved deep in his trench coat inner pockets and a stick of 49 cent gum was purchased to throw the clerks off his  
trail. No one suspects a customer to be a theft.

Eventually he stopped the “distracting purchase” trick all together. Deciding rather to keep all his money and run if need be. He was fast as hell, after all. Making track varsity in high school but having nothing to show for it; no expensive jacket with his name on the back or overpriced class ring on his finger. Just quick feet that can outrun most every cashier or security guard he comes in contact with. And that’s what he’s doing now.

He’s running as fast as he can, stolen tennis shoes aiding him even though he’s sure the clerk already stopped chasing. Fuckers never went past their own block; always too nervous to leave their store vulnerable and chase some punk with only a few bucks worth of food.

He runs until he hits the subway station, slowing so the rent-a-cops don’t suspect anything and catching his breath. He eyes the chubby one in uniform by the wall, arms crossed and dozing off while he stands. Daryl smirks, poor overworked bastard. The train comes and he steps up to the turnstile, hands in each side before he brings his legs up and over the bullshit bars. Pfft, poor guy may be overworked and underpaid but Daryl’ll be damned if he’d pay to ride the damn subway.

“Hey! Stop!”

Fuck! Officer Sleepy was shouting but it didn’t stop him, pushing through the crowd and barely making the sliding doors as the train readies to leave again with a loud beeping. Through the glass he sees the fat cop swiping his city issued metro-card again and again, failing and bumping his round belly into the bars. Daryl laughs, flipping off the glorified hall monitors while the train leaves.

The subway was disgusting; though, he thinks, when isn’t it. Graffiti and strains line the walls and seat and he reads them as he sits, adjusting his dark grey trench coat. At least the car is relatively empty, letting him spreading his long legs and relax against the hard plastic. He digs through his pockets, pulling out some of his latest finds. It ain’t much, but it’s enough.

Bottle of Diet Coke, a Reese cup, condoms (not that he needs them, nobody would even spit in his direction much less fuck him; but they were fun for water balloons), a giant pack of Whoppers and the latest horror/sci-fi magazine by his favorite publisher, Gore Score.

A glance up at the electronic map makes him huff. He’d fucked up and taken the goddamn local train. It’s gonna take forever to get home! He sighs, sitting back and bringing his legs up to make himself comfortable. ‘Might as well,’ he thinks, unscrewing his soda and opening his candy. He props the magazine on his lap and shoves his mouth full of malted chocolate treats, the continuous thump-thump, thump-thump of the tracks relaxing him into a chaotic calm that could only come after a loud day sent with illegal thrills. Sometimes, the city ain’t so bad.

——  
“God, fucking-shit, what the fuck!” Daryl huffs and digs his pockets, the damn broken light in the dingy hallway flicking overhead. Where the fuck was his key? “Shit.” He slumps, remembering the fucking ring in the bowl, his little winking monkey keychain smiling up at him mockingly. 

He puts his ear to the door to try and hear if Merle’s home but there’s no sound. No tv playing or dishes clinking in the sink as they’re washed. Fuck.

“Merle?” He knocks, waiting a second before knocking again. “Merle? You home?” He tries the knob, cursing again. He’d really hate to wake his brother if he were napping but goddamn what was he supposed to do? Sit at the door until the fucker woke up? “Merle! Let me in, I forgot my key!” He knocks with his palm, hoping it’ll be louder. Maybe he’s still at work? “Fuck.”

Daryl huffs, turning and slumping against the door. He was tired, he didn’t want to go back out but sitting in the disgusting hallway wasn’t any better. Their apartment wasn’t so bad, a bit messy but not as filthy as the rest of the building. They tried to at least keep it roach-free, leaving traps and spraying the fuck out of every entryway with bug zap spray. Damn, that shit smelled bad but at least the roaches left him alone.

Daryl huffs, reading his watch and seeing that it was only 5:26. Fuck, if Merle was still at work he wouldn’t be home til at least 7:30! What was he gonna do for two hours? He taps his foot. Fuck, might as well nap.

He sighed, closing his lids and letting his head roll before turning to stare down the hallway. His eyes narrowed at a cockroach crawling across the floor towards him. It stops about two feet away and cocks it’s head, antennae flicking and staring up at Daryl with large black eyes.

“Nope.”

The roach keeps watching long after slender legs jog down the stairs; taking the cute human and his little bug heart with them. It huffs and flickers its wings, turning and wandering down the hallway. Maybe Mrs. Miller was cooking her famous stew and he could steal some crumbs.

\----  
Daryl walks aimlessly, humming the song he had heard in the other day at the supermarket and kicking at the sidewalk. He had two hours to kill and he really didn’t want to go far. He walked until he got to the avenue, crossing quick and pausing a moment. He stared down the side street, its storefronts and fire escapes darkened by the slanted afternoon sun. He’d never really been down this way before, usually turning onto the avenue and down one of the more populated streets. If there was one thing Merle had hammered into his head, when he was younger, was that you stay where the people are. “There’s safety in numbers, Daryl.” he’d say, pulling his younger brother along to wherever they needed to go.

But that was years ago. And as much as Daryl feels old in his 20 year old bones to say it, the city has gotten better. Mayor whoever-the-fuck was doing a good job at breaking up gangs and cleaning the more run down areas. So he bites his lip and goes forward, looking at all the old buildings on either side of him.

It’s pretty in that rustic, unnatural way that cities are. Windows and scaffolding looking worn and lived in, each building having some personality. It isn’t creepy, no immediate threat being obvious and he rather enjoys the silence the street gives. No cars or motorists riding by and he turns around to stare at the avenue at the end, seeing the people and bikes going by. A truck beeps as it moves, the sound muffled by the time it reaches him. He smiles, continuing back on his route.

The light to his side catches him off guard and squints at the tall window. It takes a minute for his eyes to adjust and when they do, they widen. A sign with a zombie is staring back at him, advertising a brand new comic. Holy shit! He looks up, the awning short and red, white letters spelling “SAVIORS COMICS” staring back at him. He gawks a moment, excitement bubbling in belly. No fucking way there’d been a comic book shop this close to his apartment! He couldn’t have walked more than 8 blocks! Why the hell did he go all the way to the next burrough to get his sticky fingers on a magazine when it wouldn’t have taken more than 20 minutes here? Hell, he probably would’ve been home before Merle left!

He smiles, straightening his jacket and stepping inside. Head low and watching, he makes note of where the employees are. There’s only one, behind the register; a curly, black haired man chewing gum and reading a DC comic. He’s handsome with full lips and five o clock shadow, name badge around his neck and turned over. Nameless idiot works at a comic shop and doesn’t even know there’s better shit than DC? Whatever, Daryl thinks, and looks around.

Holy shit this place is amazing! He stares at the wall of horror comics and magazines, almost drooling in amazement. They had everything! Damn near every back issue of Gore Score and Monster Melt and about a dozen other titles he didn’t even recognize but whose covers of bloody victims and slashers made his heart beat a bit harder. Fuck… he was gonna have to hit this place up again. He looks over his shoulder, seeing the same employee helping another customer, his back turned. Perfect.

Daryl bites his lip. He’s usually more organized with his process, subtly taking a comic from one wall and keeping it close a moment than slipping it into his jacket before heading to another and doing it again but right now, he can’t keep his excitement down. He grabs two and shoves them in quick, flinching at the crinkle of plastic against his clothes. Fuck! He glances back briefly, seeing the employee talk to the other customer still and thanking his lucky stars that he was distracted. He’s in ecstasy as he turns back, taking two more magazine and biting his lip before taking another one. Then another. And another. And another. And-

“What the hell do you think you’re doing?!” A hand grabs his wrist, the magazine tumbling as a voice yells directly into his ear. ‘No….no, no, no, no, no!’ “Answer me, punk! What the fuck do you think you’re doing?!” Daryl whines, trying to pull his arm away from the tall, very angry man. He’s big, strong looking and solid with a salt and pepper beard and slicked back jet black hair. He’s not dressed like the other man, no name tag but still in the black polo shirt. His face is furrowed in rage and Daryl gulps. He was so fucked….

“Negan! What the- what?” The employee, Rick as his newly fixed name badge states, comes running over. “What the fuck is happening?”

Negan, as Rick had stated, was pissed. He glared angrily at Daryl a moment before he reached forward and opened his jacket. “Little bastard thinks he’s above paying for shit. Look at this!” He throws the comics down, hand holding Daryl’s wrist never weakening its hold. “Eight fucking books!”

Daryl tries to pull away as the shock wears off, face bright red. “L-let me go!”

“Nuh uh, no. You ain’t going anywhere.” Negan shook his head, dragging Daryl to the backroom. “Rick, go pull Dwight from his smoke break and have him watch the front. Meet me in the back room.”

Daryl tries to push the hand away, dragging his feet and whining against the hold but Negan won’t budge. He moves forward with his anger boiling. He shoves the boy into the backroom, standing in the doorway with his arms crossed. “What’s your name?”

Daryl doesn’t answer, shaking in his boots and scanning the room for an exit. Negan waits a minute before grabbing the door and slamming it against the wall, watching the way the boy flinches hard, damn near jumping out his clothes. He screams, “Answer me before I call the goddamn cops!”

“D-Daryl!” He was shaking so hard, body swallowed by his oversized trench coat and eyes unbelievably wide.

“Daryl what?” Negan stares, the lines in his face so deep and vein popping so far outta his neck Daryl swears it’s about to burst.

He swallows hard, guilt pooling in his stomach and face and he already knows he could pass as one of the tomatoes at old Mr. Greene’s bodega down the block. “D-Dixon, s-sir…”

Negan seems to think for a moment and Daryl shivers, shrinking in the face of someone who could royally fuck his shit up if he’s not careful. He’d been in his fair share of fights, each one ending with a black eye or swollen cheek and a lecture from Merle that hurt worse than any fist or kick could ever do.

He can already hear the disappointment and anger in Merle’s voice and he almost wishes this Negan fellow would pull out a gun and shoot him dead so he didn’t have to to live with letting his brother down yet again.

“Daryl Dixon, huh?” Negan speaks, his voice low and harsh and simmering with anger. He opens a hand when Rick comes back, silently demanding the man to get the store phone for him and Daryl feels his stomach drop to somewhere near his feet. 

“Pl-please, sir! Do-don’t call the cops… I’m sorry, I swear! Pl-please don’t!”

Well, there goes his resolve.

Daryl pleads as Rick gets Negan the phone, all but falling to his knees to beg the man for a second chance. But, he was about too when Negan held up a hand.

“Stop it!” He shouts and Daryl slams his mouth shut, waiting for the second foot to drop. “I ain’t calling the damn cops. I’m calling your house.”

And oh fuck. If that isn’t just as bad as calling the police.

“Give me your father’s number.”

“He’s dead, sir.”

“Mother’s number.”

“She’s also dead.”

For one second in this tense moment Daryl swears he may actually laugh. He felt an inflation of confidence and hope in his when Negan looked away, so damn fed up and pinching his nose. And honestly, he was just being truthful. Daryl never liked to admit to people he and Merle were technically orphans. He never liked to think of his disinterested, neglectful mother or downright horrendous and abusive father but if the information that they both perished gave him any kind of leverage in this situation then by all means he’d use it. Maybe Negan would feel bad for the kid and let him off the hook. He could easily play the part of the poor, impoverished city kid with no parents just trying to make it by and enjoy a simple pleasure once in a while. Maybe he could get away with this.

“Sibling’s number.”

Or not.  
\----  
Daryl sat on a flimsy folding chair, shame crawling up his throat and feeling like the only thing missing was an oversized dunce cap.

The clock on the mini microwave continued to flash in the silent break room, holding all of his attention until the door slammed open again. Negan strode in with one very disappointed and very scared looking Merle behind him, still dressed in his oil covered mechanic coveralls. And honestly, Daryl could barely stand to meet his brother’s eyes; choosing instead to stare at a particularly large oil smudge on his chest.

“Daryl Dixon, do you have any fucking idea-” And honestly the conversation followed the same pattern it always did when Daryl fucked up. Negan had taken a step back, crossing his arms and watching with an almost sadistic glee as Merle whisper-shouted at his younger brother.

Daryl stared hard at the floor, trying to nod along and shake his head when Merle asked him questions but mainly just sat still as he was barraged by accusations and barely covered insults. Every “you should know better” and “you have to stop being like this” or “I don’t know what I’m going to do with you” cut him deeper than he’d like to admit but if a stern lecture in front of an audience was all he’d get then he’d take it. He almost wanted to smile, thinking that as much as this sucked, soon enough he’d be home free. Hell, he’d do what he always did. Spend a week or two keeping his nose clean then go back to the same self-destructive behavior he’s gotten way too comfortable with.

Except he this time, it doesn’t end with Merle apologizing to the owner of the store and pulling Daryl out by the ear. This time, Negan speaks up and suggests something to Merle that has Daryl raise his head and stare in pure shock at the two men.

“He ain’t a kid anymore. Anyone other than myself would’ve had ‘em taken away the second they caught him and he’d be so far upriver not even the fish could reach him. He’s gotten learn responsibility and I think it’d be a good idea if he were to work here.”

Daryl can only catch snippets after that bombshell. His ears ring and he swears he’s gonna faint, clutching the chair sides and feeling like he’s been punched in the gut.

“-how to make an honest living” “-good idea” “-under my wing---problem child” “-hard without our parents---money’s tight---drop out” “Understand-” “-can’t thank you enough-” “-no problem. Think it’d be good-” “-bless---take any hours” 

“What?!”

The men stop and turn to where Daryl is staring with wide eyes. He can’t work here! Why would they even think that’s a good idea?? He has no idea how to run a shop or what to do or-

“You be quiet and thank Mr. Negan for this opportunity he’s giving you. Right now.” Merle’s in his face again, eyebrows furrowed and sharp as he damn near growls at his brother.

“Opportunity?? Merle! I can’t-”

“Shut up and thank him!” He screams, turning quick to apologize to Negan even as the man waves him off with a slight grin. “You’re so goddamn lucky he didn’t call the cops and is giving you the kick in the ass you need to get your shit together. Now you thank him this instance and then we’re going home.”

Daryl drops his head and swallows hard. He nods tightly and stands, mumbling up a pathetically small and overly rough ‘thank you, sir’ before Merle is dragging him out the wrist. He wants to scream and kick and yell at them to just call the damn cops they keep threatening. Or at the very least push at the Superman cardboard cut out by the front door who mocks him with his flawless grin when Negan calls after them with a ‘have a good night’ followed with the worst thing Daryl’s ever heard in his life.

“See you tomorrow for your shift, Daryl. Remember! 9am!”

\----  
9\. In the. Fucking. Morning.

Daryl stands outside the comic book shop, staring up at the red awning with drooping eyelids and a skin splitting yawn. He tugs at the hem of the oversized black collar shirt, remembering how Merle had dug through the closet while continuing the lecture from the day before. His brother’s old work shirt from years gone past was thrown at him and the nightstand light unplugged to ‘get some damn sleep’ because ‘he was going to need it’.

He wasn’t used to being up so early. His body was used to late nights and later mornings. It was used to reading comics or watching shitty horror movies on the bunny eared TV in the living room until way past midnight; not laying in bed at 10pm, trying to sleep for an early as fuck shift the next day.

But here he was. Glancing over his shoulder at Merle, still across the street, with an expectant look on his face. Daryl tried to plead silently to his brother, begging with his eyes to not make him go in, only to be met with an icy glare and a single finger held up. Daryl knew the message being sent and he pouted for a moment before a second finger joined the first. He turned quick and almost sprinted into the store, kicked into gear with Merle’s mute counting.

He knew what happened when he got to three. At least, he knew what happened when his father got to three and even though he doubts Merle would ever go… as far as his father, it just wasn’t a risk Daryl was willing to take. Not when his brother was still as mad as he was yesterday.

The store was empty when Daryl got inside, panting and looking from wall to wall. No one, not even either of the two employees he’d seen the day before, were around and he wonders briefly if Negan had forgotten about him and he could home. Maybe the man had already forgotten about putting him to work. He turns back to look out the window as Merle walks away to catch his train, leaving the morning colored street empty except for the fire hydrants and garbage bags. He chokes out a small laugh.

“What’s so funny?”

Daryl turns quick, staring up at the very tall man and almost jumping out his skin. Where the hell did he come from?? “I- uh, I mean, I-” Daryl stammers before gulping hard, eyes locked on Negan. He isn’t sure what to do and he hates that he almost felt… grateful when the black haired man grabs his shoulder and drags him towards the backroom.

“You can put your backpack in one of the empty lockers. Lunch is at noon and you get 30 minutes for it so if you smoke, I suggest you eat quick. Today is shipment day so you’re going to help me unpack the new arrivals and restock the shelves. I’ll show you where everything goes and it’d be in your best interest to pay real close attention because I don’t like repeating myself. After lunch you’ll clean the store and reorganize the back issue boxes but I’ll have Dwight you that part when he shows up.” Negan turned to him, raising an eyebrow. “Understood?”

“Yes, sir.” Daryl nodded, swallowing around the lump in his throat and trying to process all the information being thrown at him so early in the morning. “How-how long am I working?”

“Today? 9 to 5.” Negan stops them by the lockers, pointing to one near the bottom with nothing in it and looking the boy over with a sick smirk. “I usually go easy on my new employees. Ease them into working with 4 or 5 hour days but I’m sure you can handle 8. Won’t be much different than spending your day burrough hopping for spots to rob.”

Daryl’s jaw dropped, causing Negan to laugh but he couldn’t care less. How did he know what Daryl did most days?! And did the man really expect a young guy like him to stand around in an itchy shirt and nothing to entertain himself? All day?!

And he was going to say something that too but Negan beat him to the punch with a not-so-gentle grip on his neck and a shove towards the door. “Come on now, chop chop! Got lots of books to unpack and boxes broken down!”

 

So Daryl did what he was told. He stood with Negan in the back, carefully opening heavy shipping box after heavy shipping box of comics and magazines and straining to carry the piles to their locations around the store. He stepped on the boxes when told to and threw so much cardboard in the giant recycle bin out back that by the time the were finished his legs were jelly and his arms aching. He’d never carried more than a dozen comics at once and to have an armful of over a hundred at a time had made walking the 30 or so feet around the front desk island feel like he was in quicksand. And it seemed to him that Negan was purposefully making him walk to different places in the store just so he couldn’t stand in one place too long and rest.

Negan made him greet the man he know knew as Rick when he arrive; even going as far as to make Daryl shake his hand when he strolled in at 10:30 with a sturdy cup holder of Starbucks in his left hand. There were only two coffees and Daryl wished so bad he could have one, not just for it’s sweet, sweet caffeine filled beverage but so he could a reason to take a breather to drink like Negan was doing. The men didn’t even acknowledge that Daryl didn’t have a coffee, just stood by the register to chat while he stocked a shelf full of some strange japanese comics that seemed way too thick to be a single volume. He bit back his huff and swallowed the words on his tongue, focusing on the task and trying to pronounce the names of the books to kill time as he moved.

He tried not to think of the clock on the far wall or how the quiet of the store made it’s ticking echo in his ears. He tried not to focus on Negan and Rick’s conversations or the way they seemed to be having a grand ole time with their laughing and joking. Hell, he tried so hard to tune them out that when Negan dropped a hand on his shoulder he almost toppled the New Arrivals rack with his flinch.

“Jesus! Jumpy little thing, ain’tcha?” Negan chuckled and Daryl wished so badly to punch the damn smirk off his rugged face… and he would! Just give him a minute, he had to catch his breath after that scare. “It’s quarter til now so I’m going to be a good boss now and let ya take a 15 if you want it.”

“Yes! I mean- th-thank you, sir.”

“Don’t mention it, kid.”

God he could kiss Negan! B-but like… he wouldn’t, no! The mean man was his boss after all and Daryl would rather prefer to punch him than kiss him but the thought did pass his mind when he heard those sweet, sweet words. It was like angel singing in his ears! 15 minute break!

He ran to the back, grabbing his backpack quick and swiping a cigarette and his lighter before turning to go out the front when the break room door opened. He saw Negan smirk and tried to go around the cross armed man but was cut off. “Nuh uh, no smoking in the front. Bad for business. Go out by the dumpster.” Daryl grimaced, really not wanting to go to the smelly alley but deciding it was better than nothing.

 

God it was heaven to sit on a stack of old cardboard. Daryl stretched his legs and sucked deep on the cigarette before letting the smoke bellow out, closing his eyes to rest his head against the brick wall behind him. So many thoughts flutter through his head; from Negan and how he controlled the store with an impressive grip to the names of the horror comics he’d stocked and even what Merle was doing right now. He sighs, hoping, that when he got home in the evening, Merle would be proud of him. Even just a little bit.

“Smoking’s bad for you.”

Jesus fuck! Daryl jumps, staring up at Negan. How the fuck does he keeps sneaking up on him??

He watches the man light his own cigarette, letting the smoke out slow and closing his eyes briefly like Daryl had done a mere minute ago. He furrowed his brows, chewing his bottom lip. “B-but…”

“I know, I know.” Negan laughs, taking another puff and letting it out through his nose. “Been trying to quit for years. Starting to think I may as well just stop caring instead, you know?” The man eyes him, seeing the nervous ticks of lip biting and scuffing his one shoe against the ground but not saying anything. “You’re too young, kid. Should quit now while you’re ahead.”

“Ain’t a kid. ‘m gonna be 21 in a few months.” 

“21 is still young.”

Daryl rebutted, “Maybe to an old man like you.” Daryl huffs, maybe biting off a bit too much sass since he’s on break. But Christ, could anyone blame him? Negan was even pestering him on his break. He couldn’t get away from the man!

Negan didn’t seem to care about his attitude, instead laughing and shaking his head. “You’re something else, Daryl, you know that?”

“So I’ve been told.”

“Yeah?”

Daryl huffed, sitting back again and staring to the dirty wall across from him. He really didn’t want to have this conversation with Negan. Hell, the man already knew he was no good so what’s the point of reiterating the same thing? He shook his head, taking another drag and hoping the man would just leave him alone.

“Used to be just like you.”

“What?”

He looked up at Negan, watching the man as he watched the cars past on the street. Seemed like he was choosing his words carefully and Daryl waited. “Confused. Lost in the big city with no one to show me the ropes. Got into a lot of trouble back then but convinced myself I was just trying to survive by any means necessary.” He chuckled, “It was bullshit though. I was just a shitty kid who didn’t know any better.”

Daryl grunted, throwing his cigarette on the ground and stepping on it. “Don’t wanna hear your damn sob story.”

“Ain’t that.”

“Is. And we ain’t the same.” Daryl stared Negan down, glaring at the man’s annoyingly passive face and wanting so bad to tell him to shut the fuck up. He really didn’t need to hear how he was a piece of shit. He’d heard it enough from every person he’s ever met and for Negan to come out here and try to re-enforce it was just cruel. The man was already embarrassing him with making him work in the store, he didn’t need to rub any more salt in the open wound.

“We’re more similar than you think, Daryl.”

And fuck if Daryl didn’t want to punch that stupid smile off his face. He clenched his fists and huffed, turning to go back inside even if his watch told him he still had another 7 minutes on his break. At least he had a distraction while working.

\----  
The days started to blur in Daryl’s mind.

Wake up, go to work, take a lunch at noon in the back alley, work more, go home, eat, shower, sleep and repeat. Negan had yet to give him a breather in 5 days and he felt the ache in his bones from the constant lifting and stocking and cleaning. Where Negan and Rick and even that weird guy Dwight would sit around for hours and talk, Daryl had to keep working. You’d think working a comic book shop would be fairly easy and it probably should have been! But sometimes he was sure Negan would make up things for him to do so the trio could stand by the register and fuck around.

And to add insult to injury, Merle didn’t even seem to be happy with him. His brother never mentioned if he was proud or content with Daryl working, just asking a million and one questions when he came home too tired to think and shouting when Daryl talked bad about his coworkers and boss. “Gotta have a good work ethic, Daryl. Can’t be talking shit when the only reason you got this job is because Negan is a good guy. You should be thankful.” Yeah, he was real fucking thankful to be pushed around and overworked. It felt like the whole world was against him and Daryl was man enough to admit he had spent a few nights quietly crying to himself; shame and embarrassment mixing in his belly until it became too much.

But Daryl is thankful on the sixth day when he comes in and Negan turns him away at the door. “It’s Saturday. You’ve already got 40 hours and I ain’t giving you overtime.”

He’s overjoyed and wants so badly to hug the tall man. He chokes out a thank you and listens when Negan tells him he can only work 5 days a week so Mondays and Thursdays were his days off with his heads in the clouds because holy shit! He actually had a fucking schedule!

He walks home with the lightest feet he’s ever had. He remembers those cheesy Coca Cola commercials with people dancing and singing in the street and feels like he finally understands them.

A day off! He could do whatever he wanted! He could go catch the subway and ride around or go to the little coffee shop he loves or walk around the park or-

There’s so many different options on what to do but Daryl decides at the very least he should change his outfit. The itchy collared shirt and black jeans were too constricting if he were to really enjoy himself and he sorta misses his long duster with deep pockets. Sure, he didn’t plan on stealing anything today, too nervous to fuck up again when Merle still hasn’t gotten off his ass, but the long pleather coat brought him comfort. And when he sheds his work clothes off he thinks ‘might as well rest a minute’ before collapsing on the bed. He rests his eyes a minute, closing them for no more than what he thought was a few seconds before they almost pop out his head when the front door opens.

The clock radio on the nightstand flashes and his heart drops when he reads the time. No fucking way…

He had slept through the entire day. And now Merle was home.

He jumps up, staring at the anger in his brother’s face and trying to force his throat to work. He flounders, tugging on the bed sheets wrapped around him and slamming, face first, into the floor as Merle begins to scream. He groans as he’s yelled at, hating the way his brother can pick him up by the collar and throw him back onto the bed. 

Accusations of skipping work or being fired are hurled at him and he tries to rebut them but can’t catch his breath. It felt like the world was closing and Daryl feels something click in him. He realizes what’s happening and he knows that if he could get him mouth to work… he’d actually be telling the truth. For all the times he’d been yelled at in his life, either from Merle or convenience store clerks, this was the first time he actually didn’t deserve it. Or at least, that’s what he hopes. And he wants to open his mouth and stand up for himself but it isn’t until Merle’s face is an inch from his and ready to smack him when he finds his words and cuts his brother off.

Sure, he rambles in that high pitched, nervous way he does that used to piss his father off but it’s something. He stands up for himself and if the way Merle’s eyebrows crease in curiosity instead of anger was anything to go by, he was okay. He was okay.

“ … So you didn’t fuck up?”

“No. I’m trying to be good Merle, I swear.”

 

And he really was.

In fact, there isn’t even any incidents until the following Wednesday. He’d fallen into a good routine at work. Negen even let him read some magazines during his lunch break so long as he stayed in the break room and put them back when he was done. And Daryl did his absolute best to not let his boss down. But everyone makes mistakes.

\----  
Daryl slung his bag over his shoulder, sighing deep and already feeling the soreness in his back from the too long day of bending and lifting whatever bullshit Negan decided to throw at him. Clock out time couldn’t have come soon enough and he was looking forward to a nice, hot shower and collapsing on his bed. “Alright, I’m heading out.”

He watched Negan smirk, not even looking up from whatever forms he was writing on as he clicked his tongue and held his hand out. “Bag.”

“What? Why?” Daryl squinted, why the fuck did Negan want his bag?

Those dark eyes finally looked up at the young employee, sharp and dangerous yet almost playful when they made contact. “It’s called a bag check, Daryl, and you know damn well why.” Negan raised an eyebrow, “Now, be a good boy and hand me your bag and if all is good, you can be on your merry way and ole Merle doesn’t get another call.” 

It always bothered Daryl when Negan did that cheesy sing song voice of his, like he was trying to rib him some, but he held his tongue. He’d been doing so good lately and while it was humiliating, and made dark red spread across pale cheeks, Daryl huffed and handed Negan his bag. He looked away. He didn’t need to see, already knowing what was in the bag and that he hadn’t taken anything from the damn shop. He may have a problem but he was trying his best to stay on the straight and narrow. Besides, Negan watched him like a damn hawk. No way he’d be stupid enough to try and steal from him again.

He crossed his arms and tapped his foot as his boss opened his backpack, desperate to get this shit done with so he can go home.

“What do we have here?” Negan almost sang the words and Daryl snapped his attention to the comic book in big hands. His eyes and mouth opened, watching Negan shake his head with a sad smile. He mumbled under his breath, “Jesus Christ, Daryl.”

“No!” Fuck! No, no, no! This was a misunderstanding! “Wait, Negan, no! I swear I wasn’t taking it!” Daryl was sweating, and not in the thrilling way he did when he got his sticky hands on something good. No, he was sweating in the way when you get caught red handed, his fight or flight starting to kick in but his knees feeling weak in shame. “Please, I promise! I was reading it at lunch and I must’ve put it in by accident. By instinct!”

Negan crossed his arms, face blank and eyes seeming to bore into Daryl’s entire being. “Mr. Negan, it’s not what it seems. I know you have no reason to believe me, but I swear. I didn’t mean it. I didn’t even realize!” Daryl gulped hard, looking down and hating how his eyes seemed to well up. “I’ve been doing so good…”

He waited for the other foot to drop; for Negan to pick up the phone and call the cops and have him taken away or Negan to ask for his name tag and fire him or any other situation that’ll break Merle’s heart. He wiped his stupid tears off his stupid face and felt his hand shake with the horrible emotions. Why wasn’t Negan tearing into him? He’d been so angry the first time, screaming and hollering with threats to press charges and now he was silent. Why was he so quiet? 

“Alright. I’ll see you tomorrow then.”

Daryl blinked, seeing his boss zip up his bag and push it across the counter before turning back towards the register. “Wh-what?” Wait, what the fuck? Was that it? He was off the hook?

Negan sighed and turned back, face void of any nonsense. “I’ve told you before. You’re not a bad kid, Daryl. You may be misguided and a pain in my ass when you wanna be, but you’re not bad.” Negan smiled at the confusion on Daryl’s face, “If you swear you’re telling the truth then I believe you.”

Negan’s eyes got dark, his smile disappearing and he raised a single finger in warning but Daryl’s heart hammered at the idea of Negan counting… “I’m giving you my trust, Daryl. And you get one goddamn strike. You betray my trust and that’s it. You hear me?” Daryl nodded instantly, gulping and whispering a small ‘yes, sir’. “Good. Now go on home and try to remember to put the comics back after your lunch, alright? Cause once is an accident, twice is a choice.”

Daryl nods and turns to leave, head spinning with what had just happened. He felt sick and scared and fuck if it didn’t make him want to puke. He’d never had a problem with guilt before, always took it in stride because all the accusations were correct but this time? No, this time he had been innocent and it wrecked him to think a single fuck up almost cost him his job. For once he hadn’t planned on stealing and that thought alone shakes him to his core.

He goes to bed when he gets home, waving Merle off when he offers him dinner and instead laying in bed until his mind quiets and he can finally sleep. He makes a small promise in his head, to himself, to Merle, and to Negan, that he’d get his shit together. No more fucking around.

 

\----  
Another Tuesday comes again and if Negan is being honest with himself, he’s impressed with Daryl.

Just under four weeks and a single paycheck and he was making leaps and strides. Heck, he can’t help but smile when he thinks about the pure shock and then overzealous joy in the boy’s face when he was handed his first paycheck. He had handled it so gently, staring in disbelief at his own name on the slip and thumbing over the slightly raised numbers of his earnings.

Looking at him now Negan knows he’s finally on the right track. The boy’s back isn’t as slouched as it once was in the early morning and he actually smiles when Negan lets him in, something the older man would hate to admit warms his chest in that sugar sweet way he knows he shouldn’t be feeling. He grins momentarily back at him, patting his employee on the shoulder and watching Daryl as he goes to the back to drop off his backpack before the smile drops.

Negan’s been talking with Merle. The mechanic was a good guy as far as Negan was concerned and sitting across from a table in some hole in the wall restaurant in Chinatown felt way too comfortable for a couple of guys who’d met under the worse circumstances. Also taking into account the fact that their entire conversation a few days prior seemed to have revolved around the person who occupied way more of Negan’s day to day thoughts than a simple thief turned employee should have; Daryl. They talked about how far the boy had come to how much easier it was now for the older Dixon that he didn’t need to constantly worry about his well-being. He had mentioned how he was always nervous with Daryl, scared for the day he’d get the call that the boy had been arrested or worse. He mentioned how ashamed he was for having accidentally taught Daryl the very act that would crucify him and how embarrassed he was that it had been such a necessity.

Of course, Negan understood where the older Dixon was coming from. While he had tried to talk to Daryl, tried to have him open up and relate to him, the boy refused to hear his words or understand just how similar they really were. Negan remembers his youth on the streets, quick hands and quicker feet being the very means of survival that both Daryl and his brother had needed as well. But once Negan had gotten his chance, he had to prove himself. He had been given a tests of sorts by his old boss to make sure that he wasn’t just pretending to be better and while it ached somewhere inside of him to do the same thing to Daryl, both he and Merle needed to prove the kid was for real.

Something small, an easy test to see just how committed to being good Daryl really was.

So when lunch rolls around and ends with Daryl signing back in, he pulls him aside to chat. “I’m heading down the street with Rick for lunch so I’m gonna need you watch the front while we’re gone, alright?”

Daryl nods at him, brow shaggy hair bobbing slightly and god Negan has to struggle to push down the need to tuck some of it behind a pale ear. “Got it.” The boy chuckles, waving a hand in the air between them. “Don’t gotta worry, Negan. I can handle it.”

The boy’s gotten more comfortable in the last few weeks, openly joking with both Negan and his other coworkers. Hell, the boy was a ball of sass when he wanted to be and it actually made the owner grin when he thinks of the afternoons spent ribbing each other when there weren’t any customers in the store. Little fucker even flirted with the older man and at this point, Negan wasn’t a hundred percent sure Daryl didn’t mean all of them. Kid was addictive and even his funny little hand wave was rubbing off on Negan; he’s caught himself doing it more times than not when someone says something silly or funny. But funny mannerisms and a few jokes here and there weren’t enough to have the older man completely trust the boy who had tried to steal from him.

“Alrighty,” now for the kicker. “But listen, I got a delivery for a few special edition issues of Gore Score coming in so I’m gonna need you to sign off on it, okay? Probably gonna have to show some ID so make sure you got your wallet on ya.”

“Special edition?” Daryl’s eyes are like saucers and Negan prays to god the sparkle he sees in them in just surprise and not temptation.

“Yeah. Ain’t sure how many they’re sending me,” that’s a lie, “so just count them when they get here and put them up by the register. Alright?”

And holy fuck does Negan hope he’ll count exactly 25 issues when he returns. “A-alright, I got it.” Daryl smiles and it pulls at Negan. Just a little bit.

“Okay, be back in 30.”

So Negan and Rick leave.  
And Daryl stares at the window.

He stares out for what seems like an eternity even if he knows more akin to only about 10 minutes. But he continues to leer, eyes flicking to everyone and anyone who walks by. He watches families wander by with kids in strollers or holding their hands. He watches joggers run by, a few with dogs on leashes who look more than happy to be rushing around with their noses in the air. He watches teens on bikes and grown up nerds who walk into the store and he rings them up with distant eyes and slightly shaky hands. He watches as a UPS truck pulls up and a tall fellow in silly looking beige shorts walks in with a clipboard and package tucked under his arm.

“Package for-” the guy squints at the board, “Me-Ne…. Neg-nog?”

“Negan. And yes, he asked me to sign for it.” Daryl trembles, holding out his ID and watching the man scan it before holding out the clipboard. The delivery man tries to make idle chit chat as he signs; silly statements about the weather that he’s probably said a million times that day but Daryl can’t bring himself to reply. He nods along, trying not to be horrendously rude and scare away a potential customer when the man is off the clock, but finds he truly doesn’t care when his mind is screaming at him.

Gore Score. Special edition. Gore Score. Special edition. Gore Score. Special edition. Gore Score. Special edition. Gore Score. Special edition. Gore Score. Special edition. Gore Score. Special edition… 

He’s handed the box and although he’s been working in the shop for over three weeks now, his mind short circuits on what the hell he’s supposed to do now. What does he do??

“Get it together, Daryl…” he whispers, looking about the temporarily empty store before setting the box down. He’s done this a million times but his hands shake when he holds the boxcutter to the clear tape, anxiety making his palms sweat so bad he swears he’s going to drop it or cut himself. He sighs and closes his eyes, swiping the blade lightly over the package and only peeking when it runs off the edge. It’s a decent cut, straight through the tape and Daryl’s grateful for his new muscle memory for letting him do it so precisely. He pulls the flaps back and can hear his own heartbeat when he sees the magazine cover on top.

It’s shiny. So damn shiny that his mouth waters as he takes in the details. A skeleton holds a screaming woman in his grasp, his reaper like cloak shred to bits and fluttering in the wind as he plunges the knife into her chest. It’s a close up picture and the entire bottom right half is made up of the blood spewing, the bright red of the laminated cover shining so bright it seems to be popping off the damn cover. The picture is so precise, not a line out of place, and telling a story that is obvious to the reader but open ended enough that they’d be desperate to rush to the advertised “page 4” to read who the woman and skeleton are and how this gruesome scene has come to be. And Daryl is itching to find out.

He wipes his palms on his pant legs, shuddering out a deep breath as he picks up the first book. He stares at it and it’s not until he wipes his hands again that he realizes they aren’t sweaty from excitement. No, they’re itching in the tell tale sign he’s come to know over the years of obsessive kleptomania.

He wants the book. He so desperately wants the book and Daryl can hear the small voice in the back of his mind telling him that Negan hadn’t counted yet… Negan didn’t know how many books were in the box… Negan wouldn’t miss just one little comic book… His backpack was right there in the back. Daryl’d be back before any sweaty nerd or coworker came into the front and no one would be the wiser… It’d be… so easy… to just… take-

“No!” He half shouts, throwing the book down and taking a step back. “No, no… I’m not-I can’t…” His hands are shaking, body trembling and he swears his head is being split in two. He’s angry at the other voice in his head yelling at him to not give a fuck and take it anyway, prison be damned! He’s confused at the other feeding guilt and shame into his belly for even considering stealing. He’s… happy about the tiniest voice that sounds an awful lot like Negan telling him he’s proud of him.

It’s too much. The walls of comics swirl together with the glossy brightness of the spewing blood of the magazine cover and Daryl sways. He feels like he has to puke and his body aches in a way he’s only felt a handful of times in his life. The ache to be held and comforted when his mind plagues him with emotions he rather run from in his stolen tennis shoes than face head on like the angry man at the comic book shop holding his wrist.

“Daryl? You okay?”

And of fucking course Negan manages to sneak up on him for the upteenth time just when his stomach feels like it’s eating at itself and his head throbs when he flinches. Words try to crawl up his throat when Negan surveys the area, his amber eyes going over the unpacked box and lone, collectable book on the floor. And when they lock back on Daryl’s, he forces his voice to work in a pathetic whisper he hates to admit ever came out of him. “Don’t want to steal anymore…”

\----  
Negan stands in the doorway of the break room, staring hard at Daryl as the boy paces. He’s holding one of the books in his hands, body trembling so badly it seems he’s about to vibrate out of his skin. He keeps ranting, half broken sentences tumbling out his mouth and sounding like a lunatic. “I wasn’t going too!” “I did want too!” “I want it but!” “Negan, I…” “I ain’t, I swear!” “I wasn’t going too!” He keeps sucking in deep breaths and Negan feels his face soften, knowing damn well the obvious signs of a panic attack but not knowing how to approach the situation. He sighs, holding out a gentle hand and hoping to god that Daryl will it and follow him.

 

“Come on, let’s go outside.”

Daryl’s the first to go out. He drops the book on the lunch table, rushing out without another word and while Negan is incredibly impressed that even during an intense moment the boy wouldn’t break the ‘no books outside’ rule, it tears at him when his hand is ignored. He bites back his sigh and waits until the door closes behind them to offer Daryl a cigarette from his own pack. He never thought he’d enable his young employee but now wasn’t a time to think about bad habits.

Negan watches as Daryl shakes, the boy puff angrily at his cigarette before groaning loud and continuously flicking at the butt. It’s a nervous tick Negan’s seen him do before but only on days when there were a bunch of customers and the one time a man had yelled at Daryl for sweeping too close to his feet. “I had a feeling you’d be tempted but I didn’t expect- I never thought…”

“Fuck you!” Daryl pushes at Negan’s chest suddenly, hating the way the man sounded so damn sure of himself when he felt like his mind was trying to split in two. Sometimes emotions were hard to deal with and Negan tries his fucking hardest to not look shocked or spooked by the seemingly random and uncalled for outburst. “You did this! You fucking did this to test me and you don’t give a damn how I fucking feel!”

“Of course, I fucking care, Daryl.” Negan hisses and cuts him off, grabbing at Daryl’s wrist when he tries to push again. “I did this BECAUSE I fucking care!” 

“No you fucking don’t! None of you fucking assholes do! You don’t fucking trust me!” His voice cracks and Negan can feel his heart breaking.

“Why are you so mad? You know damn well you have to earn my trust, Daryl!” Negan shouts, staring down at Daryl as the boy’s eyes well up. The tension is palpable and he tries to keep a level head with his young employee. He wants an answer and part of him knows that it’s what the boy needs. He needs to think and confront his demons even if the older man’s heart may shatter alongside his. At least they wouldn’t be alone in it. “Why are you so mad?”

“I’m not mad! I’m-, I don’t know, frustrated!” Daryl huffed, wiping angrily at his unlistening tears who fell even when he tried to hold them back. “Im frustrated at this bullshit life where we had to steal to fucking eat and the even more bullshit concept that stealing is so awful you shouldn’t do it no matter what!”

He sighed and leaned against the white brick wall, staring down at the floor instead of the obvious disappointment and anger that he knows will be on Negan face. “Maybe I am mad.”, he shudders and sucks in a shaky breath, “I’m mad that people think stealing is worse than my brother keeping me fed and alive. And I’m sad because sometimes I think they’re right. I’m not worth the few dollars worth of stuff Merle took.” He gulped, eyes vacant and bright with tears as his voice trembles and strains with building sobs. “I ain’t worth being kept around. Not even when I was little.”

Negan didn’t wait for the obviously painful sob to finish before pulling Daryl into his arms. He squeezed him tight, clenching his teeth at each heartbreaking cry. For all it’s worth, the boy squeezed back, holding on for what seemed like dear life and tangling his fingers in Negan’s work shirt. They didn’t mind the badges and lanyards between their chests, the only feeling he acknowledges being a damp shoulder and horrendous trembling because they shook the older men to his core.

No one deserved to feel like this. Especially not the boy with sticky fingers.

“Daryl… I’m sorry.”

The boy hiccups, leaning back to wipe his face and shuddering as he takes a deep breath. “It ain’t your fault. I know-I know it was a test and… I don’t blame you! I can’t be trusted, hell! I can’t even trust myself!” He huffs hard and begins kicking at the wall. “I wanted so fucking bad to take that goddamn magazine. I don’t even need it but I wanted it and I hate how fucking stupid I am to not even think about actually paying for it first. I have money now! I can pay! I’m just so stupid,” kick, “stupid,” kick, “stupid-” kick… 

“Hey!” Negan shouts, grabbing Daryl’s arms and pulling him back. He locks their eyes and forces every ounce of honesty to show through them when he speaks low and serious. “You are not stupid. Don’t ever say that about yourself again, you hear me?” He doesn’t wait for an answer, just stares into those damp eyes with a softness Daryl was sure he’d never seen in anyone ever before; especially not giant, angry men like Negan. “It’s not your fault you got into the habit of stealing. It ain’t even your brother’s fault! It was a necessity and now that the need is gone, you’re trying to break out of it. It’s not going to be an overnight thing. You’re not some teen who gets riled up from taking the newest pair of shoes from some uppity store downtown or some weird guy who gets off on stealing cat food for a cat he doesn’t own.”

Daryl huffs a laugh and Negan rubs his arm softly, pulling the boy closer to him. “You’re not a bad kid, Daryl. You got stuck in a survival headspace in a place that doesn’t accept that and a time that doesn’t call for it anymore. You’re may always have that little voice in you that tells you to take shit, lord knows I still do after all these years… but you can control it. You just proved you can control it!” He matches Daryl’s shy smile, raising his hand to wipe a stray tear off a slightly freckled cheek. “I’m proud of you. And I know Merle will be too.”

Daryl glances downward, licking his bottom lip and wiping his eyes some more before giving Negan that blinding smile that tears at his facade and self control. “I guess you were right. We really ain’t all that much different, huh?”

And Negan’ll be damned but he can’t hold out any longer.  
It ain’t the storybook kisses that fix everything that’s wrong in the world or those cheesy pecks couples on TV share to cheer each other up. It’s like being lite on fire and dowsied in ice water at the same time.

Negan doesn’t stop himself from grabbing the boy’s face with both hands, surging forward to press their lips together in a way that’s so dangerously tender and desperately primal it pulls the air from his lungs. He doesn’t think, doesn’t even stop to question if Daryl would have even wanted it because it feels so goddamn right he can feel when his heart skips a few beats in every inch of his body and hears when it starts up again and to bang on it’s skeletal prison. And then the boy kisses back, opening his small mouth and letting his boss taste the bitter words on his tongue and chase the hidden affection between his teeth.

Daryl’s never been kissed before and Negan feels his insecurity and inability to have opened up bleed through his timid moan and trembling hands on his elbows. But neither man cares when they pull apart, hidden in the alleyway behind a tiny comic book shop somewhere in the big city. They feel small but together and maybe they met at the horrendous time of growth but nothing mattered.

“You’re not a bad kid, Daryl.”

“Neither are you. Thank you, Negan.”

And fuck. How can Negan not kiss him again after that?

\----  
The days start to blur again for Daryl but this time his feet don’t weigh him down. His shoulders don’t slouch and the once ominous and stressful red awning of Saviors Comics now fill him with a blanket of comfort he had trouble admitting made him want to sing and dance in the streets like those old Coca Cola commercials. The raining morning sky seems bright despite their clouds and he smiles when he thinks back on the proud look on Merle’s face that morning.

And when he walks in with a styrofoam cup holder, carrying only two Starbucks coffees, on a Sunday morning, his smile never falters. It’s not from whatever petty joy would come from excluding a member of their work team, like the men had done as gentle hazing when he first got hired, but from the slightly selfish satisfaction of knowing Rick wouldn’t be in until about 10:30 and he and Negan would be alone in the store to open new arrivals and stock the shelves together.

Or, you know, make out behind the register and stuff.

“Hey kid.”

“Hey yourself, old man.” Daryl smirks, stepping up on the tippy toes of his new, paid for tennis shoes to kiss Negan. The older man hums happily, chuckling against Daryl’s lips when they pull apart before going back in with a bit of tongue that wakes up the last bits of sleepiness coffee can’t ever seem to shake. He blindly reaches for Daryl’s hand to lower the coffees and leaning closer to him, working their lists together in that sugar sweet way that left them both panting and grinning like lunatics. They pull apart after a few moments, sighing and resting their foreheads together to enjoy a quiet morning. “Did it come in yet?”

“You bet it did,” Negan chuckles, turning to pick up the latest collector's issue of Gore Score and holding it up. “Set one aside just for you, darling.”

And fuck. How can Daryl not kiss him again after that?

“Thank you, Negan.”

“Don’t mention it, kid.”

**Author's Note:**

> Please comment and let me know what you think. I hate to beg but every email for a comment I receive gives me another reason not to give up on writing like I so often think of doing. I have so many old fics who I would love to share with you guys. Thank you, love you!<3


End file.
